Fire and Ice
by Garrae
Summary: When she was four, she met the dragon, and wasn't impressed... She wasn't any more impressed now, when it clearly was real – and much, much bigger. Fluff, tangentially related to Hallowe'en. #CastleHalloweenBash2019
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

When she was four, she met the dragon, and wasn't impressed.

Her parents had taken her to the theatre for her birthday, and while she loved the performance of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat, when she'd sneaked away to explore, she'd found a skinny, slinky dragon lurking backstage, pretending to be just another prop. Even at age four, her belief in magic was tenuous: she'd loved the effects and sparkle of the stage show, but she knew that it was done through (though she'd never heard the word) stagecraft.

She'd squeaked in surprise when she'd come upon the dragon model, but then, un-childlike cynicism to the fore, confidently patted its red-gold nose, to check that it was papier-mache, or polystyrene. She squeaked a _lot_ louder when an eye opened, peered at her, and the second faceted sapphire orb joined in; regarding her with an infuriating air of superiority.

"Shush!" it hissed. "I'm sleeping."

"You're not. Your eyes are open." Kate thought about it. "Anyway, you're not real. You're a puppet, and someone's hiding to pull the strings."

"I am real," it said indignantly. "Look, I can open my wings." It did, partway.

"Still a puppet. I saw them on Coney Island. Dragons don't exist."

"I do. You're just too young to understand things you haven't seen."

"I'm _not_."

"Are so. You're just a baby." The delicately scaly eyelids closed.

"I'm _four_. I go to school. I'm _not_ a baby." Kate's temper rose. "You're a baby."

"Only as a dragon. I'm fourteen. I'm at high school."

"Liar. Dragons don't exist and if they did they wouldn't go to high school. Everyone would know about them and they'd be on the news. You're using a puppet and you're a big fat liar. I hate you!"

She stormed off to find her parents, who chided her gently for running off and then took her for ice-cream sundaes. She never did tell them about the dragon, because it couldn't possibly have been real.

* * *

Years passed, and Kate Beckett's life changed. She excelled in high school. She went to Stanford, but when her mother was murdered, she transferred to NYU. She became a cop. She watched her father drown in alcohol, and then save himself. She made detective, and led a team, and used her pay checks to indulge her love of shoes, coats, chocolate and crime fiction – with a definite skew to the last of those items.

Occasionally, she dreamed of the dragon: its red-gold scales on a skinny body, and its sapphire eyes.

Far more than occasionally, she used her inheritance from her mother. Now _that_ had been a surprise. Not the money – though she surely hadn't expected the life insurance, especially at that amount, but that was, well, _normal_. The rest of it – wasn't. Worse still, her father either didn't know, couldn't remember, or was too drunk to discuss. Her mother's notes had been…partial, at best.

Once probate had been settled, a year later, the money had been used to buy an apartment, all spec'd out to her – extremely precise – requirements. Space for many bookcases; a large bathtub; and excellent air conditioning, guaranteed to leave the apartment at exactly the temperature she wanted, all the time, every time. By then, she'd adjusted to her new reality, and worked out what she needed to have at home to be comfortable; filled the bookcases, and spent her first evening happily ensconced in her bath with a good book: featuring one Derrick Storm, written by one Richard Castle.

Now, in 2009, life was just fine, she thought, as far as it went. Her father was sober, and their relationship repaired to almost perfect; her bookcases were stuffed and her Kindle even fuller; and she and her team were the stars of the NYPD.

If only she wasn't single. She gazed at the author picture on the back of the Storm book which she was reading, accompanied by her bath, scented candles and a glass of excellent chilled white wine to celebrate yet another successful case, and thought that he looked pretty damn sexy. Gorgeous blue eyes, too.

* * *

_Be careful what you wish for_, Beckett thought acidly, some months later.

Richard Castle had been a world-class pain in the ass since the day she'd hauled him out of his _Storm Fall_ launch party, and his gorgeous blue eyes were only gorgeous when they weren't ogling, leering, grinning or otherwise annoying her. He followed her around like an untrained Labrador, lolloping and bouncing, desperate for attention and prepared to do nearly anything to get it. Just like a toddler, if he didn't get attention for behaving well, he behaved badly – and it was quite clear that behaving badly in some very specific ways was his favourite thing. (It might have been hers, if he hadn't been such a pain in the ass, because she couldn't – try as hard as she might – deny that he was sexy. Really, really sexy.)

However, he might be scorchingly hot, insanely talented, and Croesus-rich, with a voice that could persuade almost anyone to do almost anything (she looked around the ridiculously besotted bullpen, and wondered what the hell had happened to her cynical cops) – but she wasn't warming to him, even though he'd apologised for his weapons-grade fuck-up before the summer; even though he was, just occasionally, useful. (_Su-ure you're not_, a voice murmured in the back of her head. _You just keep telling yourself that, and we won't talk about the dreams. Or the fantasising._)

Of course, she mused, as she luxuriated in her bath, that would be because she didn't warm to anyone. Or anything. Ever. (_Except Castle_. She ignored that.) The ice shavings swirled around her, keeping her at a constant and comfortable thirty degrees Farenheit; restoring her after a long day in the bullpen.

Her mother's legacy.

Beckett was pretty certain her father had never known that her mom was an ice elemental, if only because he'd have blurted it out as soon as he got drunk enough. She wondered how her mom had hidden it, but Manhattan anti-trust lawyers worked all the hours God sent, so there must have been private time for her mom to take ice baths. Or maybe a full elemental didn't need them. _She_ didn't need to have the baths, but she felt a damn sight more comfortable if she had them, especially in the summer.

But now it wasn't summer, it was fall, and tomorrow she would take (under ostentatious – and faked – protest) a week's vacation, up at the cabin in the Sentinel Range. This, however, wasn't the comfortable, accessible, and much closer family cabin, which her father used for his frequent fishing trips, down in the Catskills. This cabin had been her mother's little secret: high, high up in the forest, screened by grey rock and green-black conifers, north-facing and overlooking treacherous cliffs. There was a vehicle trail, but a little careful illusion-work had obscured its entrance from the highway, and concealed its width thereafter. No-one would know it existed, and therefore no-one ever hiked or drove it. A little further illusion concealed its end point, and so no-one ever wondered why there was a one acre patch of permanent snow and frost, nine-tenths of the way up the highest peak, with a small wooden cabin in its midst, and an icy pond beside it.

She'd drive up tomorrow, Saturday, and not come back till a week Sunday: getting six full days for the price of five days' vacation. _And_ she wouldn't have to see, hear, or think about Castle for one single tiny infinitesimal _picosecond_ of any of it. (_But you will. Think about him, that is._)

She ignored the voice, which was simply wrong, punched the air in triumph, sending little snowflakes drifting around her, and downed her wine. Eiswein, naturally, well chilled.

* * *

Having left so early on Saturday it was almost still Friday night, Beckett made her cabin by lunchtime, including a stop for breakfast, more coffee, and a week's supplies of frozen food. There was no oven at the cabin, nor a freezer. Neither were necessary. She didn't need to heat food to enjoy it, or cook it, though she was as fond as anyone of burgers or takeout. She put everything away, and then allowed herself to lapse into her other form: paler skin, cold green eyes, pure ice-white nails and lips, hair still dark, but tipped with white; almost crystalline. In this form, she wore a light, short dress, also white, with silver fern tracery, just as if she'd drawn frost patterns over the fabric. It came with the form, which meant she never needed to have it cleaned.

She wandered happily out into the silence and thick snow, revelling in the clean, cold beauty and solitude: smiled, and threw her hands out wide and high, twirling around, to produce a fountain of snowflakes falling around her. Elsa from Frozen had _nothing_ on Kate Beckett, ice elemental.

She began to saunter around her patch, leaving a trail of bare footprints in the pristine snow, approving of the icicles on the conifers and the shallow drifts around the waters of the pond – _what_? That pond should be frozen hard, so she could skate. Her eyes narrowed, and she spotted another anomaly: bare earth. She marched over to investigate.

Glacial anger consumed her as she surveyed the bare patch. Well, she could fix that. She gestured, smooth even in her ire, and returned it to her snow-covered satisfaction.

From high above, dropping fast, came a growl of annoyance, and a shadow blocked out the chilly sunlight. As it landed, light gleamed on the red-gold scales, and bright sapphire eyes pierced her.

The dragon melted the snow with one short puff of flame, and curled itself around on the suddenly-warmed patch of earth.

"Hey," it said. "Nice to meet you."

She hadn't been impressed the first time, when she hadn't believed it was real.

She wasn't any more impressed now, when it clearly was real – and much, much bigger.

* * *

Rick Castle, celebrity author, superstar, famous, notorious, and incorrigibly curious, had found an outlet for all his writing talent and curiosity in following around ice-cold Detective Kate Beckett: driven, dedicated, and gorgeous. She carried a gun, too, which was scorchingly hot.

Not that she was warming to him. Okay, so he'd screwed up, but he'd apologised. But…it wasn't the same. And now, instead of being sociable and teasing and bantering and preferably flirting, she was just the same cool, chilly, reserved person she'd been all along. Worse, she wouldn't go along with any of his theories about aliens, CIA agents, men in black, or anything even faintly hinting at the supernatural, spooky, or just plain downright weird.

Which was, he had to admit, a bit of a major problem. Because he _was_ supernatural, though not, he hoped, downright weird.

Rick Castle, superstar author, infamous celebrity – and a fire-breathing, red-gold, dragon. That would improve his fame – for around ten minutes, till he was carted off to Area 51 and experimented upon. So. Not. Happening.

A bit like getting together with Beckett, really. That was another thing that wasn't happening, which was deeply, deeply irritating. Not that she'd believe in dragons. In fact, being a dragon wasn't really very useful for anything. The persuasive qualities worked on everyone – except Beckett. His massive hoard (since this was the modern day: carefully invested and growing nicely) impressed lots of people – except Beckett. His gem-blue eyes could attract anyone – except Beckett.

In fact, all of his draconic powers would work on anyone and everyone – except Beckett. It wasn't fair. Especially as he was sure that under the cool shell, she was (one) interested and (two) blazingly hot. He liked heat: fires, hot sunshine, and basking in warmth. Or burning up the sheets, of course. He dreamed about that, with Beckett, but dreams were all it was.

The funny thing was, she reminded him of that tiny little girl who'd discovered him snoozing in among the props. Beckett was just as disbelieving of everything that wasn't tangibly, provably real as that child had been. Of course, then he was still adjusting to his new reality. Now, he was perfectly comfortable in his own skins. Both of them.

Not that he got much of a chance to use his second skin: Manhattan didn't have the space, and Central Park was far too busy. Air Traffic Control would be all over a golden flying object the size of a Gulfstream G3, and air passengers now took photos and, worse, shared them. Not at all desirable – it was the one form of publicity he _didn't_ want. Usually, he tacked a couple of days on to his book tours to hot places, and found a remote location to enjoy spreading out his wings and tail: basking until he had to leave.

Castle was more than a little disconcerted to find that Beckett was taking a full week of vacation, just when they were reaching a slightly better place. She didn't seem to appreciate it, though: Montgomery had practically ordered her to go, and her sucked-lemon expression said that she didn't want to. She'd barely spoken about it, and certainly hadn't mentioned much about where she was going. Up to the Adirondacks, she'd said, and left it at that, which, since there was a _lot_ of the Adirondacks, didn't give him much of a clue.

Castle, in fact, had a plan. He was going to prove to Beckett that dragons existed, without actually revealing that he was a dragon. He gleaned every tiny scrap of information that he could, using all his persuasive powers on Ryan, Espo, and even Montgomery, absorbed everything that Beckett said, and finally decided that the best guess was the Sentinel Range. He'd go up to the range on Friday, leave his car in Jay, or Keene, and then quietly change under cover of darkness and fly into the wilderness till he spotted a cabin. In dragon form, his eyesight was exceptional. Of course, since the Sentinel range was wilderness, he expected that the cabin would be on the outskirts, if cabins were even allowed within the place. Maybe he'd spot her hiking, or fishing.

His plans and thoughts were totally derailed when, lazily circling the mountains under the early morning sun, high enough that anyone spotting him would simply think it a much lower-flying bird of prey, he spotted an illusion.

_An illusion_? he thought to himself. There was _another_ supernatural being around here? He flew lower, and used dragon sight to pierce through the illusion of trees and rock to find… _snow and ice_? Ugh. Brrrr. He didn't like either. It cooled his claws and scales, and he couldn't lie down without his stomach chilling, which felt like indigestion. Not fun at all. On the other hand, he had an easy solution.

One short puff of flame later, he had a dragon-sized space in which he parked himself, and then melted the pond to have a drink. His curiosity about Beckett had been totally overtaken by his curiosity at finding another supernatural being, and anyway, once he'd found out who this was, he'd be able to annoy Beckett by telling her all about it. She'd never believe it was real, anyway. He'd just wait here until the supernatural being showed up.

Boredom intervened before anyone – or anything – did show up. Castle decided that he'd fly off to see if he could spot Beckett, or Beckett's car, and then come back.

He soared off, eased happily through a few circuits and the wide swoops and stretching of his wings to their full span, and then spotted movement through the illusion. Perfect. He started his descent, and growled with annoyance as he noticed that his lovely warm patch of earth was now a nasty cold snowy patch. He landed, re-cleared his patch, and looked at –

Oh. My. God. Ohmigod. _That_…was not what he'd expected.

"Hey," he said, and managed _not_ to add _Beckett_. "Nice to meet you."

Kate Beckett was an _ice elemental_? What the actual _fuck_?

He smiled lazily into the teeth of her ire, and sized her up. Still very recognisably Beckett, despite the bare feet, silky dress, and white nails, lips and skin. The expression in her eyes was pure Detective Beckett, however: unmistakeable.

"How dare you change _my_ land to suit yourself? I keep this icy to suit _me_, not some spoilt overgrown lizard."

Ouch. "I don't like being cold."

"So leave. I don't like my patch being invaded."

"Awww, don't you like knowing there's another – bigger – supernatural around?"

"Size doesn't matter. Talent does." Her eyes flashed. "If you want to make a fight out of it…"

"Oh, I think size helps. For example" – his long tail whipped round and caught her, pulling her up to his jaw.

"You" – and suddenly his tail was frozen solid. He sent a little heat down it, from the inside, and the ice melted.

"You're sneaky," he said.

"You're an arrogant lizard."

"I'm a dragon, not a lizard. Key difference: I'm warm-blooded."

"I don't care. You don't belong here, and I don't come here looking for _warmth._ So get lost, and stop melting my ice."

"I'd love to melt your ice," Castle oozed, "but I don't mean the meteorological kind." Even with the blizzard now surrounding his head, that had been worth it. She actually blushed.

"That's inappropriate," she snapped.

"But not impossible." She stared. "Ever done it with a dragon?" Her jaw dropped. "You'll never want anyone else."

"Put me _down_," she ordered.

"But I want to pick you up," he pointed out. "Opposites attract, you know. Fire and ice."

"I hate fires."

"I don't want to burn you up. Just the sheets."

Castle was having so much fun flirting that he failed to notice the ice sheet forming underneath him until he started to slide. He was so surprised that he dropped Ice-Beckett: frantically spreading his wings before he slipped right off the cliff edge.

"That wasn't nice," he complained, recovering. She smirked. Castle flicked his tail around her again, and grinned back. "Got you." A huge, taloned foot encircled her. "D'you like flying?" he asked, closed the talons and took off.

"You…you…I'll _freeze you!_"

"If you want to fall to your death, sure."

"Take me back, you overgrown iguana!"

"Only if you promise to be nicer. I wanted to meet you. I didn't know there were any other magical creatures in New York State until I spotted your illusion."

"Nor did I. And I was quite happy with that, too."

"Mean. We've barely met and you're being mean to me. No-one's mean to dragons."

"Explains why you're such an arrogant ass," she muttered. "Anyway, you just said that you hadn't met any other magical creatures, so how would anyone know you're a dragon? If you'd shown up in public it would be top of the news. What you really mean is that you don't meet anyone, so no-one's mean to you. If they'd met you, they would be."

"You know," Castle mused, "you sound just like someone I met, years and years ago, before I grew up. She was mean to me, too." He steered well clear of anything more recent. Beckett was quite intelligent enough to pick it up and work out who he was.

"She had sense."

"She was a baby," he said dismissively.

* * *

_Thank you to all readers and reviewers. _

_Some supernatural Caskett fluff, for Hallowe'en. Four chapters, all written, usual Sun/Tue/Thu schedule._

_For everyone who read Death in Focus, Death in Camera, the next in the series, __will shortly be__ available on Amazon, for Kindle and in paperback (or on Kindle Unlimited for those who use that). Expect this message to be repeated as soon as I know it's live, and ad nauseam thereafter. If you haven't read Death in Focus, go read it!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Beckett studiedly did not react. _This_ gigantic _lizard_ really, really was that theatre puppet prop? It _had_ been real? She'd really met a dragon, snoozing in among the stage flats, almost twenty six years ago? But he'd been tiny in comparison – she supposed. Four wasn't a great age for judging size or width – but he certainly hadn't been the size of an aeroplane. And _she_ hadn't been a baby. Four, and in school, wasn't a baby. Humph. She was tempted to drop snow on his head, but she didn't want to be dropped on the ground.

"Put me down," she instructed.

"Really? Don't you like being taken higher?"

The lazy tones were _infuriating_ – and insinuatingly smooth. She shook her head. That was ridiculous. This damn dragon was _almost_ as irritating as Castle, and she'd come up here to get away from irritating men. Males. Dragons weren't men. (_You dreamed about Castle last night, and he certainly wasn't irritating. Definitely male, though. Oh yes_.)

"No. Put me down."

"Whatever. But you're no fun." It circled into a descent, and landed gently. "There. You're down."

"Let go of me."

"You didn't say that. Anyway, I like you there. You're pretty."

"What?"

"Dragons collect beautiful things. You're gorgeous, so…"

"No. I am _not_ a possession. You can't own people."

"You're not people. You're an elemental."

"Not the point. Anyway, I'm just as much people as you are, so you can't own me."

"But I want you," the dragon said stubbornly.

"I want doesn't get."

"I always get what I want."

"Then it'll be good for you not to. Let go. Please," she added coldly.

"Don't want to," it pouted, and then smiled, showing a little curl of heat in its throat. "I know. I'll let go if you promise two things."

"Yeah?"

"One: to talk to me tomorrow. I'll go away now and come back tomorrow morning."

She gazed cynically at it. Him. Only males were ever that pushy. It. "I'll take that under advisement, until I've heard the second."

"A kiss."

"You _what _now?"

"A kiss. Just a little kiss."

He didn't think she knew that the ice was sheeting behind her, or that a small, tempestuous blizzard was swirling overhead.

"Why on earth would I want to kiss _you_?"

His tail curled around and stroked her back; his talons stayed around her, caging without pressure. "Because I'm the only other supernatural around. And I'm handsome, shiny, and hot."

"And a dragon."

"Yep," he said happily. "Well known to be the sexiest supernaturals ever."

"If not the most modest."

"I have plenty not to be modest about."

The tail moving over her back was sending deeply intriguing – _no! Unwelcome_ – sensations down her spinal synapses, sparkling into her centre. How something that size could be that delicate escaped her. Without any permission from her common sense at all, her hindbrain began to speculate on what else might be, um, _sizeable_. And then common sense intervened and informed her that something the size of an aeroplane simply wouldn't work. She'd be squashed.

"Size is irrelevant. Anyway," she continued without any permission from her conscious mind at all, "you'd be too big."

The sapphire facets sparkled. It was oddly reminiscent of Castle… come to think of it, this whole conversation was oddly reminiscent of Castle. She shook her head. That was simply ridiculous. Castle a dragon? No, no, no. He'd never have been able to hide that from her – apart from anything else, he'd have shown it off just to prove her wrong about the non-existence of supernatural beings.

"I can adjust. Look." He opened his foot to release her, and reduced himself to a size not too dissimilar to his human size. Magic was a wonderful thing, he thought. So useful. His tail continued to pet, twining around her waist and flirting with the top of her shapely rear. The blizzard had stopped: only a few drifting snowflakes floating to the ground.

"Oh…" she said weakly. "That's…convenient."

His tail curled a little more sneakily, bringing her closer. "So how about that kiss, then?" He widened his eyes. "I've never kissed another supernatural."

"Oh, poor baby," she said insincerely. "Never been kissed."

That was entirely untrue, but Castle had no intention of revealing himself. "You should feel sorry for me, then."

Beckett looked at her dragon – hang on, _her_ dragon? It wasn't hers. But it was wonderfully pretty: gold scales, slightly reddish; beautiful, faceted sapphire eyes. She reached out and touched its…well, cheek, she supposed.

Wow. That wasn't what she expected at all. She'd expected it to feel metallic, but it was soft, almost like chamois leather. Without volition, she stroked down the side of the dragon's face again. Its tail curled in close, embracing her.

She leaned in and kissed it, neatly on the soft-scaled cheek. "There. One kiss."

"Can I come see you tomorrow?" it enticed.

Beckett looked at it, straight into the big blue eyes. "Oh, _okay_," she sighed. "But no melting my pond. I wanna skate."

"Oooohhh, can I watch?"

She _meant_ to say _Don't push your luck, chum_, but somehow it came out as, "Okay".

The dragon lit up. Its scales actually sparkled. "Really? Great!" It rubbed its face against hers, and managed a mildly terrifying kiss on her cheek. It…oh. It _didn't_ hurt. It was hot, sure…but it didn't hurt: she didn't have the instant urge to ice down. The tail patted her ass, which was cheeky – and strangely exciting; held her a little tighter, as if she were being hugged close, and then released. "See you tomorrow," it said, a slight growl underlying its voice. "Step back." She did, and, as she'd expected, suddenly it was full size again, spread its wings and soared from the cliff, rising in spirals until it was out of sight.

Beckett restored her pond to glassy smoothness, her earth to snow-covered white, and then meditatively made and drank an iced coffee, while she considered the strangeness of the last couple of hours. On the good side, she wasn't the only supernatural being around. On the bad side, the dragon was arrogant, spoilt, and pushy. And far, far too large. On the good side – she didn't want to admit it – it was rather sexy. It had a rather knowing look in its eye: teasing and mischievous. On the bad side, it was fire, and she was ice. On the good side… that sort-of-kiss hadn't hurt, or burned, or melted her. She was just as cool and chilly as ever.

Hm. On balance, good. Just. She had a thought. She, after all, had two forms: her normal Detective Beckett, to all appearances one hundred percent human; and Ice-Elemental, which wasn't. Maybe the dragon had a human form? That would be…interesting.

(_It's a lot like Castle,_ a little voice said in her head._ And just because you pretend that Castle's irritating doesn't mean you wouldn't like to find out what else he might be like._ I don't, Beckett said to the voice. _Do so. But what I meant_ – I? You're me – _whatever, I meant that you could have an interlude with the dragon. Actually, have you ever thought that you could change form too?_ What?_ Well, have you?_)

Beckett stared blankly at her pond. Another form? She'd never thought about that. She grinned, and sent a handful of snow-crystals flying. Why not? That would surprise that arrogant lizard. "Let's try," she said aloud.

She stepped out on to the pond, being a nice big clear space, and concentrated hard on the way it felt to change herself from normal-Beckett to Ice-Beckett. When she thought she'd understood it consciously, she flicked back and forward a few times, to ensure she had truly got it, and then built an extremely precise image in her mind.

She concentrated, and – oh. Oh, oh, _oh!_ It actually worked! She looked at her toes – talons. Pure diamond. She stretched her neck, stretched out her arms – no, those were pure white wings, with diamond tips – dew claws? – and examined her form with considerable satisfaction. There was just one problem – she was little. Hmm. If that overgrown iguana could change size, then so could she. She thought, and grew.

Oh. That wasn't fair. There seemed to be a limit, and though she couldn't measure it, she was pretty sure she was still smaller than that other dragon. Humph.

_(Typical biology,_ the voice in her head said. _Male mammals_ – mammal? Oh. He'd said he was warm-blooded –_ are typically larger than female. I guess we'll need to accept that it's male._ Do I have to?_ Might be fun if you did. After all, you've just solved the form problem._ What? I wasn't thinking of that. _Really? Lying is naughty._ I wasn't. _Much_. _You liked the tail. And the kiss. Funny, you're thinking about the dragon just like you think about Castle._ Shut up.)

Beckett returned herself to her ice-form, and finished her coffee, after which she spent some time spinning around the ice, perfectly happy to concentrate on her moves (_it means you're not thinking about Castle, or dragons_), and finishing on a competition-perfect double salchow.

* * *

Dragon-Castle glided off from the cliff-edge – he could take off almost vertically, but it took more effort than his essentially indolent dragon liked to exert – distinctly satisfied with the day so far. Albeit he was still utterly astonished that the resolutely down-to-earth Beckett was herself a legendary supernatural being, on balance, that was just plain perfect. Even better, _he_ knew that it was her, but she didn't know he was him, so to speak.

He'd managed a cuddle, a kiss – and an invitation to return tomorrow morning. He frowned. Beckett kissing someone else – even if that someone else was still Rick Castle – wasn't a good thing. He shrugged it off. It was he who she was kissing, and anyway, she had a right to kiss anyone she liked. He just needed to make sure that she was (unknowingly) kissing him. Perfect, he thought again. Now, if only she were in a rather more useful form. Kissing woman-Beckett as a dragon wasn't going to work, though it had been a start – oh. His thoughts skittered. He'd thought he might get frostbite, but no. Sure, her lips had been cool – cold – but it hadn't _hurt_. Weird.

Anyway, she wasn't a dragon, and at this point, if he turned back into himself, she wouldn't be happy with him. Best to stay draconic, and flirt, and try kisses as often as she'd allow. He could always warm himself at the lodge fire each afternoon, or have a scalding shower, if he was too cold.

He landed in a discreetly hidden place, and briskly hiked back to the lodge, delighted with the day. He simply wished that Beckett could have turned out to be another dragon, when they could have soared together – in so many ways. Then again, he actually had no idea how to do sex as a dragon. He didn't exactly think that Anne McCaffrey would apply in this situation, and it wasn't like he'd ever found another dragon to practice with. So maybe it was just as well. He wouldn't want to disappoint her. Um. Okay. He wanted to addict her, though that assumed that elementals could even become addicted, which might be a tad unlikely. What would they be addicted to? It could hardly be 'ice', or 'snow', he thought idly. Surely any drug would just freeze off?

He recognised that his thoughts were running down yet more insane lines just as he reached the warmth and light of the lodge, and gratefully retrieved his keys, showered and changed, and took a table for dinner as close to the roaring fire as he could manage, dreaming of Beckett and the kiss with every bite of his rare steak and the chocolate lava cake that followed it.

Of course, when he went to bed, his dreams were considerably hotter than mere kisses, but unlike his rather confused adolescence, that no longer resulted in charred sheets.

* * *

Beckett was drinking her second iced coffee, and contemplating a warm-up lap or three around her frozen pond, when the dragon landed, stirring up a flurry of snowflakes and melting himself a small patch from which he could see the pond clearly. The necessities established, he prowled over to Beckett, and regarded her soulfully until she set the mug aside. He put his massive head on her lap, and –

Purred? Only if she thought that huge predators could purr. It was far more of a growl, really.

"What are you doing? Get your oversize, overweight head off my lap!"

"That's mean. I'm the perfect weight for my size and capabilities. But whatever you say, Snow Queen."

"What?"

"Well, you haven't told me your name, so…Snow Queen. Unless you want to be Jadis, White Witch?"

"No. I'm not evil, and I'm not conquering peaceful worlds in some sort of existential good-versus-evil, redeemed-by-sacrifice, midlife crisis."

"You're too young for a midlife crisis."

"You're not," Beckett snarked. "Aren't dragons supposed to be old? What number crisis are you on? Fourth, fifth? What do dragons do for a midlife crisis anyway? Hoard Ferraris?"

"Are you always this mean?"

"Yep. Are you always this pushy?"

"Yep." He grinned. "Especially since you like me."

"What?"

"Well, you're stroking my head, and it feels _really _nice. So you must like me. And I definitely like you. We should like each other."

Beckett flung her hands away, and out of malice buried the dragon in snow. He shook like a giant dog, and the snow melted away.

"Won't work. You make it snow on me, I make it melt. And the park rangers might just notice a new waterfall coming off the cliff here."

Beckett emitted a noise much like an F-15 taking off.

"Aw, c'mon. You don't want spotted any more than I do." He nuzzled against her shoulder, and then dropped his head back to her lap. "I really liked you petting my head," he wheedled. "Do it some more."

"No."

"Okay, I'll pet you." His tail curled round to stroke her spine, just like the previous day, which had a ridiculously erotic effect on her, especially since she was mad at him. "You said I could watch you skate."

Beckett suddenly remembered that she could switch to being a dragon, and then reconsidered. No. It would be much more fun to leave that till he was all flirtatious and annoying, and then she'd switch and fly away.

(_Bit of a theme here. Didn't you do that hip-sway strut away to Castle? And given how you think about Castle when you think no-one can see, why are you flirting with this dragon?_ I'm not_. Are so._ I'm not dating Castle. I can flirt if I like. _Yep. Because it reminds you of Castle and it's here and he's not._ Don't want him here. _Yeah, right._) Beckett, with extreme annoyance, realised that her voice had a point, and resolutely didn't admit it to herself.

"Did I?" she queried.

"Yes! You said I could come over and watch you skate." His tail petted some more. Beckett found, to her considerable annoyance, that she was stroking his head again, and staring into the vast depths of his blue eyes. Those reminded her of Castle, too. For crystalline facets, they held a lot of warmth – and admiration. (_Aww_) And an irritating _I-wanna-see-you-naked_ expression. (_You're looking at it naked_. It's got scales. _Which you want to stroke, and see what comes up_._ Though you'd rather stroke Castle, and see what comes up. Or just comes._ Shut up.)

"Move your big head, then. And take your tail off my ass!" For some completely unknown and unreasonable reason, she felt a tiny touch guilty that she'd been stroking the dragon. (_Ha! You know why._)

"But it likes being there."

"Shift or I'll turn it into an absolute-zero icicle."

Castle knew that he could still restore it with his own fire, but…why make the effort? And he did want to see Beckett skate. That short little dress would spin up…and her legs were exceptional. He'd always been a breast man – until he met Beckett, and found that legs were even better – or maybe it was just Beckett that was better. His tail trailed down one of those wonderful legs, and then tidied itself around him.

"You're no fun," he grumbled at her.

"Nope. I'm going skating." She glared at him. "Don't touch anything. Don't melt anything. And stay off my ice."

Awww. It was just the same tone as _Stay in the car_. He held up his taloned paws. "Dragon's honour," he grinned. The glare intensified. He calmly prowled to his convenient viewing spot, melted only a small further patch of snow so that his stomach didn't freeze, put his head on his front legs, and watched.

Oh, wow. She really could skate. She was beautiful: icy, precise, glistening: she spun, perfectly in place, stretched her hands high and a fountain of icy crystals and snowflakes fell about her, streaming out in wide spirals and catching the morning sun. The dragon in him cried _Diamonds_, and ached to add her to his hoard. Most valuable elemental, he thought, and smiled possessively, and watched some more, heedless of the snow and ice around him. He would win her, and keep her, and it would be the best thing ever in his whole supernatural life.

When Beckett finally came off the ice, eyes and hair sparkling, a little sprinkle of snowflakes on her dress, Castle pounced, wrapping her up in his tail and catching her in so that he could plant a kiss on her cheek and nuzzle into her shoulder. "That was amazing!" he said. "Your moves are wonderful." Left hanging in the air was _I could show you my moves_. He unwound his tail, and put his forelegs around her instead.

"What are you doing _this_ time?"

"Keeping you safe."

"I could turn any threat into an absolute-zero ice block faster than a speeding bullet," Beckett said crossly. "I don't need to be protected. And I don't want to be kept safe either. Let go."

Castle-dragon assessed the look in Beckett's eyes, and realised that she really meant it. He let go. "There. Free."

"Thank you." She relapsed into a little silence, eyes dreamy. (_Aww. You're thinking about Castle._)

He lay back down, and watched her, just as he would in the precinct, storing away the image of the Snow Queen in her tiny, icy realm. "Penny for your thoughts."

"Do dragons have pennies?" she deflected.

"I've got a hoard. I'm sure there's a penny in there somewhere." She blinked. "Dragons have hoards. It's in the rules. Otherwise I'd be kicked out of the dragon club."

"You said you were the only one."

"Details, details."

"You sound just like someone else I know," Beckett snipped. "He never thinks about details either."

"Oh?" said Castle, knowing exactly who she meant but completely unable to resist the temptation to find out what Beckett might think about him when she thought she was talking to a complete stranger.

"I don't want to think about that," she shut down.

(_Yes, you do._ Don't. _Do_. Shut up. _I'm you. I don't shut up just because you don't like what I'm saying. You never would._)

"Aww. C'mon. It's not like I'm going to know this guy, is it? Dragons don't have normal lives – come to think of it, what do you do? Do you have a mundane life?"

"Yes. _I_ change form," she said smugly, and then lost all common sense. "Wanna see?"

"Yep."

Beckett blinked, and then returned to her normal self.

"Wow," the dragon said. "You're gorgeous."

She preened, and saw the blue eyes brighten – and was reminded of Castle's hot blue stare whenever she showed him just a little more than usual.

"Can you do anything else?" he asked.

* * *

_Thank you to all readers and reviewers._

_I can now confirm that Death in Camera is live on Amazon, despite Amazon's best efforts to confuse me. Kindle, paperback, and Kindle Unlimited, worldwide. Check it out - and if you didn't read Death in Focus, I do strongly recommend reading that first!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Beckett stopped, and reverted to her elemental form. She could convert herself to dragon form, but…

(_But what_? Nothing. _So why don't you do it, then?_ Uh… _Oooohhh, you don't want to, because you'd be getting into it with the dragon. And you don't want to because he's not Castle. Awwww. _Shut up. _Didn't we have that discussion about shutting up five minutes ago? _No.)

"This is who I am," she said instead. "If you don't like it, there's the sky."

Castle noticed the deflection, and in an unusual moment of squashing his curiosity, didn't push further. Yet. He would. Oh, yes, he would push. Because the only reason for avoiding the question like that was that she could change to something else, and that, he hoped, meant that she could, if she wanted, be a dragon. He chided himself for unwarranted, speculative, optimism; for which he had no grounds at all, and then thought about the wonderful possibilities of a Beckett-dragon. She'd be silvery-white, he decided: slim, sinuous, and as sexy as she was in any other form. She'd breathe ice, or snow. Oh. That wouldn't be quite as good. Still, he hadn't been frostbitten when he'd kissed her cheek, or when she'd kissed his, so obviously there was some romantic component to their respective magics.

"I do like it. What do you do when you're human?"

"Work. Like everyone else in Manhattan. We don't all have hoards to sleep on, or raid cows from nearby farms to eat."

Castle kept quiet. It wasn't part of the current plan to let her know that he changed form – she'd want to see, and that would result in pain, suffering, and probably bullets. He had an idea, which he stowed away for later. When he got back to the lodge, he'd send her a text, inquiring about her vacation. She almost certainly wouldn't answer, but…she might.

"What work do you do?" he tried again.

"I'm a cop. Which is why I like peace and quiet and _solitude_ on my vacation." She looked at her watch. "Morning is over. Time's up."

"You're telling me to leave?"

"Yep."

"Okay," he said amiably. "But I wanna see you tomorrow. Can I come back, just for the morning, and watch you skate again?"

"You're as pushy as" – she stopped.

"As?"

"This guy at work. He's pushy, too."

"Does it work for him?"

"Not as often as he'd like it to."

Well, that was surely true, Castle thought. "I'll just watch."

"And if I don't say yes you'll turn up anyway, won't you?"

"I can spot you through the illusion from ten thousand feet, so…"

Beckett sighed. "Why me?" she asked the trees, which didn't answer. "Since you'll do whatever you like anyway, yes, fine, whatever. Now go away."

"Bye bye," said Castle cheerily, and took advantage of standing up to peck her on the cheek again, then spread his massive wings and took off from the cliff into a thermal. Before he disappeared, he waggled his wings in salutation, and then soared up into the clouds.

Beckett saw the waggle, and resisted the urge to wave back, instead restoring the bare earth to beautiful snow, making herself a large flask of iced coffee, and enjoying every last sip, surrounded by ice, frost and snow.

She was perfectly happy.

(_No, you're not. _Am so_. Are not. You want company. _Don't_. Do. You want your Castle._ Do not. _Do I need to remind you that I am you and I know what you're thinking? You wouldn't mind at all if he turned up and petted you like the dragon did._ Would. _Liar._)

She made herself another flask of coffee, had a late lunch, and then skated herself into satisfied and above all solitary exhaustion, until the sun set. Once twilight had set in, she put in a little mental effort and changed herself into the ice-dragon – size small, so as not to be spotted – then flapped her wings until she rose from the pond. Some time later, she'd got the hang of the soar and swoop, and landed back on her home-made ice rink to change back.

(_I thought you weren't going to get into it with the dragon? – oh. Oh, I see. You wanna take Castle flying. You wanna surprise him. That's so sweet. Awww. You're all sappy._ Shut the hell up._ That's not nice_.)

When she finally went inside, ignoring the irritating little voice in her head, which absolutely wasn't her at all (_am so_), she automatically checked her phone, and, much to her surprise, found a text from Castle.

_Hope you're having a good vacation_, it said. _I'm bored here. Can I come visit?_

No, he could not. (_You don't mean that._) She wasn't going to admit to him that she wasn't entirely human. She'd _never_ get rid of him. (_You don't mean that either. You want not to get rid of him._)

_I'm quite happy on my own, _she eventually sent back, after dinner, a good book, and the discovery that her arms and shoulders were rapidly stiffening up. Flying, it seemed, had some disadvantages. She stretched, winced, and emitted several _ow_ noises. She went outside, and soothed her abused muscles in some lovely cold snow, staring up at the stars above. She could, if she wanted, simply sleep outside, but in the end she decided that her bed was just as cold and much more comfortable. As she pulled the thin sheet up, she had a mischievous thought, retrieved her phone and sent a second text to Castle.

_I'm being plagued by another pushy male, though._

In the lodge, comfortably settled in a large leather armchair, next to the roaring fire, with a glass of single malt and a good book, Castle read the second text and barely stopped himself growling – until he realised that Beckett meant _him_. Ooops. He'd better get his hindbrain under some control, if he was jealous of himself. Still, why on earth was she telling him that? She was perfectly capable of major discouragement without needing any help at all.

_Is he annoying you?_ he flicked back, wondering what she meant.

_Yes. He reminds me of you_ – ow – _but pushier._

_Are you sure you don't want me to come and discourage him?_

_I can do my own discouraging. I have a gun. Night. KB_

_Night. RC_

Tomorrow, he decided, he'd be…um…pushy.

* * *

Beckett woke up and discovered that her shoulders would barely function, they ached so. It wasn't fair. She was fully fit, did light, frequent weights, could manage fifty pull-ups without a hitch, and generally shouldn't feel like someone had hung her up backwards by the wrists. She creaked herself into caffeination, and then went and lay in a pile of snow for half an hour, after which she built herself a snow chair, and sat in that so that she could drink more coffee without spilling it down her nose, while still icing her agonised shoulders. She would definitely leave it for a day – or two, or three – before trying out flying again.

Speaking of flying, and sadly identifiable flying objects, the object of her irritation had just flapped in, melted a patch of snow without even asking, and had plopped his oversized head in her lap, looking soulfully up at her through those ridiculously beautiful blue eyes.

"Head off," she ordered, and backed it up with a shove.

"That's not nice," he whined.

"You sound like a mouse. Not attractive."

"What would be attractive?" he flirted, and brought his tail round. Without even looking Beckett batted it away with a blast of icy wind.

"Not you."

"What?" The dragon sat up on his haunches, shocked. "I'm _gorgeous_."

"You're pushy and arrogant. Not attractive. You're worse than" – Beckett stopped.

"Than who?" he asked curiously.

"Not relevant."

"Sure it is. Go on, tell me. If you won't pet me, I wanna story."

"What are you, four?"

"I want a story," the dragon said stubbornly. "I like stories."

"Learn to read."

"Of course I can read!" he said, insulted.

"How? I don't remember hearing about dragons going into bookshops."

"Haven't you heard of Amazon? They deliver."

Beckett stared at him. "How do you get delivery?"

"I set up an account, I order, I pay, they deliver to my safe space. Just like anyone else." He smirked at her. "You can get anything on Amazon – well, except Snow Queens."

"They probably sell inflatable ones," Beckett snarked dismissively.

"Where's the fun in that. I like _this_ one." His tail whipped around her – and was abruptly iced.

"Don't do that. I don't like it."

"You don't?" He looked a touch shamefaced. "Tell me a story, then. Promise I won't tickle you with my tail." He sent a little flare of heat down it, melted the ice, and wrapped it round himself; then sat, gazing hopefully at Beckett. She was as little proof against his plaintive gaze as she was against Castle's.

"So there's this guy at work."

"Same one as yesterday?"

"Yep."

"I guessed. You said he was pushy. And now you're saying he's pushy and arrogant. Guess you don't like him."

"I" – said Beckett, and then closed her mouth and reconsidered. The glint in the dragon's eye gave her the strange impression that if she said she didn't like Castle, he'd consider her fair game for a lot more flirtation, and while she could easily fend him off, it seemed like a lot of effort to go to when she could just (_be truthful_. No.) deflect.

"He gets better with keeping."

"What, like house-training a pet?"

"Not exactly," she grinned. (_Not at all._)

"Oh? What does he actually do? Is he a cop too?"

"He'd like to be," Beckett muttered. "No," she said more loudly.

"No? Are non-cops even allowed in a precinct? I know, he's an analyst. A nerd. Spends all day looking at a screen in a tiny little cubicle. Never sees daylight."

"No."

"I know," the dragon said condescendingly, "he's admin staff. HR, or something like that." He made it sound like _cockroach_.

"No!" Beckett snapped.

"So what does he do?"

Beckett muttered something almost entirely inaudible. The dragon grinned at her. "Didn't catch that."

"He's a writer, okay? He writes mysteries."

"Oh," the dragon yawned. "Would I have heard of them?"

"Richard Castle? Derrick Storm?"

The dragon yawned again. "I don't think so."

"Nikki Heat?"

His eyes popped wide open. "Nikki Heat?" he yelped. "Really? That was – well, p105 made _me_ blush. And he follows you around?" The smirk returned. "You're Nikki Heat. Well, well, well."

"It's fiction."

"Really?" said the dragon, with a healthy – and infuriating – dose of scepticism. "If someone wrote that about me, I'd hope they'd have done a lot more than buy me dinner." He looked her up and down in an insinuating fashion. "But then, he's human…and you aren't. Supernaturals shouldn't slum it."

"Oh?" Beckett said very dangerously, her temper barely leashed.

"No. You'd be much better off with one of your own kind."

The dreaded Beckett temper exploded.

"You…you _speciesist_ asshole. You… get out of here before I turn you into a glacier! You're just trying to get into my pants and you can flap your celibate wings right out of my patch."

"Don't be like that. Sounds like you _like_ this guy." The dragon grinned widely, showing a little flare of flame in the back of his throat. "Are you sure he hasn't, mmm, bought you dinner?"

"Get out of here!"

The dragon plummeted off the edge of the cliff, banked and soared. "See you tomorrow," he said. "You should let the guy know you like him. Or if you're shy, I could send him a message for you." He dived to avoid the spray of ice crystals heading straight for his scaly snout, and added insult to injury by breathing out a narrow flame, which melted them all.

Beckett cursed the dragon up hill and down dale until her voice gave out.

(_He did have a point, you know. You do like the guy._)

She cursed the voice in her head, silently, until she'd repeated every last curse she knew at least five times, and then took out her remaining, still furious, rage on producing a blizzard that left three feet of snow across the entire acre patch. It didn't make her feel any less angry, but at least she could ice her shoulders. She formed a new snow armchair, and sat in it, trying to soothe her ravaged temper.

(_You could call him._ I'm not calling that flap-tailed, conceited asshole. _I meant Castle._ I'm not calling him either. _You should. You like him._ Shut up._ You say that every time you don't like what I'm telling you._)

Beckett stomped inside and made yet more coffee, and, since her shoulders were still exceedingly painful, went back outside to her lovely icy chair and reformed it until ice completely covered her shoulders, which soothed them beautifully. About that point she noticed that she had brought both her book – normal and sensible – and her phone – not normal, not sensible, and quite ridiculous – with her. She read her book… for ten pages. Then she looked at her phone, which was defiantly silent and devoid of texts or missed calls. She returned her attention to the book, and read a further ten pages, and looked hopefully at the phone, which didn't do anything. The cycle continued for some time.

(_You could call him_. Who?_ Don't be disingenuous. You know who._ Don't. _Faux naivety is unattractive._ Just as well no-one's here, then. _You want them to be_. Shut up. _Here we go again. Just call the man already._)

Beckett looked at her phone again. Would it really hurt to call Castle? Compared with the pain-in-the-ass dragon, he was really quite bearable. Not like he had been at the beginning…then, he'd been just as awful.

That was odd. The dragon was big, blue-eyed, arrogant, and pushy. (_And flirtatious. And sexy._) He reminded her of Castle every other minute. He bantered and flicked back annoying comments in _exactly _the same manner as Castle did. He read. He read Nikki Heat but didn't know who Richard Castle was? That seemed…unlikely. Castle's name was in huge letters – as big as the title – on every one of his books. Hm.

She put the phone and book aside, and applied an excellent deductive mind to the problem. Oh. Oh, oh, _oh_. If _she_ could shift her shape to a dragon…there was no actual reason that the dragon couldn't also shift _his_ shape.

Was it possible that the annoying dragon was the – right _now_ this second equally –annoying Rick Castle?

(_You are utterly insane. The ice has frozen your brain._)

Of course she was. But the idea was…persistent. It persisted all through her reading, her dinner, her shower (cold, of course) and her evening. It would, if nothing else, she thought as she snuggled under her thin sheet and luxuriated in the chill, explain why she'd – oh, no. No, no, no, and _no!_ She did not like Castle flirting. She didn't like the dragon's even more overt flirting and indiscreet touches. She did not.

(_Liar._)

She did. Like Castle flirting, that was. Oh, God. She was so screwed. (_No, that's what you want to be._)

Eventually, she fell asleep, and dreamed of the dragon, and Castle, morphing into each other. But in the morning, she had a plan. The dragon would undoubtedly turn up – and _she_ would interrogate. Extensively. She was not having arrogant dragons fooling _her_. Oh, no. Not least because if the dragon _were_ Castle, which was still the most insane idea she'd ever heard _including_ all of Castle's stupid dumb theories, then he must have recognised her immediately. She didn't look that much different as an elemental as in human guise. That double-dealing _rat_. It was simply _not fair_ that he'd recognised her, found she was a supernatural – and then not admitted his own non-humanity.

And it was _completely _unfair that she'd met him when she was four, too, and he'd never ever said that they'd met before.

Castle, Beckett sulked, was a great big liar who didn't play fair. But, she cheered up, he was about to discover that his unfair play hadn't worked.

She drank her iced coffee with considerable smug satisfaction, and then went out and skated until she was perfectly happy. Even her shoulders didn't really ache this morning.

When the dragon flapped his way in, smiling at her, she was ready.

"Hey," he said.

Armed with her new-found supposition, she thought that it even sounded a little like Castle.

"Back again, lizard?"

"I like talking to you."

"I bet. Didn't you say you'd never met another supernatural?"

"Yeah. Very dull – till I met you."

"So how do you manage to exist?"

"Uh?"

"Well, nobody's ever mentioned dragons, but you have to eat, and live somewhere, and have an address that you go and pick up your Amazon deliveries from, and to pay you have to have a bank account, and you don't get one of those without ID – so tell me, _dragon_, do you have a human form?"

His eyes fell, and his tail twitched, skittering the tip back and forth, scattering the snowflakes: embarrassed.

"So you do." Beckett went in for the kill. "And if you didn't know I'd recognise it, you'd have shown it off – just like you showed off a whole lot of everything else. So why don't you just cut the crap, _Castle_?"

The dragon cringed, shook itself, and was abruptly Castle. "How did you _know_?" he pouted.

"Why didn't you _tell me_?" Beckett rapped.

"You don't – you made it perfectly clear you didn't believe in anything that wasn't totally normal and _human_. How was I supposed to say, 'Oh, by the way, Beckett, I'm actually a dragon the size of a Gulfstream jet,' without you having me committed?" He scowled at her. "And all the time you were being all sceptical and, 'stop with the insane theories, Castle,' _you_ didn't tell me that you weren't even human yourself." He turned back into a dragon.

"Why bother?"

"Because I _like_ being a dragon and when else do I get the chance, huh? Why do _you_ bother turning into your other form? Maybe because you like _that_ and when else do you get the chance?" He melted a patch of earth and sat down firmly.

"Stop melting my snow."

"Nope. I don't like my stomach being cold. It's only a little patch, anyway. You've got all the rest to be icy in."

"So you think you can come and mess up my peaceful patch" –

"Don't give me that, Beckett. You were quite happy to see me" –

"I was _not_."

"Okay. You were quite happy to tell the dragon off for being rude about me, and you sure didn't deny it when he – I – said you liked me." His tail twitched. Beckett didn't notice it unfurling. "And you petted me. Stroked my scales. And you kissed me."

"On the cheek. I kiss my _dad_ on the cheek."

"You don't stroke him, though. Or pet him." The tail moved, unnoticed. "And you did pet me." Something occurred to him. "And then you stopped. Right around when you started thinking about human-me." His eyes went wide. "Awww, _Beckett_. You felt guilty about it not being me."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You're blushing."

"I'm not."

"You are."

(_You are, you know. And he's caught you out._)

"Am not."

"It's cute." The tail whipped around her and brought her right up to his snout before she could retaliate, forelegs catching her in – and he changed back to Castle and suddenly she was in his arms and tucked against his chest. "And so is this." His fingers petted her back in just the same way that his tail had.

"What are you _doing_?"

(_Don't be more of an idiot than you can help. You know perfectly well what he's doing. Hugging you. And you like it, so if you try running away I will have words with you._)

"Hugging you. You don't like my tail round you, you don't like flying, so…hugs." He followed the hug with a kiss on her cheek.

(_That was nice. It'd be nicer on the lips, though._)

And then he stepped back, and turned back into the dragon, and sat back on his haunches and grinned at her, which was _totally_ unreasonable and unfair. Her temper sparked. Well, see how he liked _this._

* * *

_Thank you to all readers and reviewers._

_In the unlikely event you have failed to notice already, my new book, Death in Camera, is available from Amazon. Casey, Carval and the Misfit Team ride again._


	4. Chapter 4

_This chapter is mildly M. Be warned._

* * *

**Chapter 4**

She moved out on to the ice, watched every inch of the way by the dragon's possessive, predatory gaze, skated for a moment, spun, scattering diamond-bright snowflakes in a spiral around her – and then changed to her ice-dragon and flew off.

The red-gold dragon came after her in an instant, but she had the lead and – despite her shoulders telling her that this was a _really_ bad idea – she wasn't giving it up. He might be bigger – but _she_ was manoeuvrable.

At least, that was the plan.

Sadly, one day of being a dragon clearly didn't teach her everything, and a whole life of being a dragon had left Castle with a considerable command of flight, chasing, and – she really couldn't help the mild misquote – knowing How To Tame Your Dragon.

She was forced into a landing, back on the ice, with the huge spread of Castle-dragon's wings blocking any possibility of escape.

(_That was fun_. Humph. _It was. Let's do it again…later._ No._ You are just a grumble of sulks, you know – and a whole heap of lies. You enjoyed it. You liked being chased…and caught._)

He landed neatly next to her, and in an interestingly flexible movement wrapped his tail round her middle before folding his wings.

"You didn't say _you_ were a dragon too!" he complained. "That's not fair. You knew I thought I was the only one and you didn't say you could be one too. You're never anything but mean to me. You'd have left me all lonely" – Beckett blew a rude raspberry – "you would _so_ because you always do – and all the time you'd have been laughing at me behind my back." He flexed his tail, just a fraction, and shook her, just a little – just enough to notice. "Well, now I know." He smiled slowly. "And I've caught you." The tail stroked her stomach, and a trail of arousal trickled behind it as it slowly moved, pulling her ever closer until their flanks were touching.

"You know what happens when a dragon catches something he wants?" slithered sensually from his mouth. "He adds it to his hoard. His possessions. He keeps it."

"And if it doesn't want to be kept?" she asked, but the words carried more tease than testiness.

"Then we have an impasse," Castle murmured. "But usually, being part of a dragon's hoard is regarded as an honour. Like being in a museum, and admired by everyone."

"Put on a pedestal, and then hidden away? Doesn't sound like much fun to me."

"That's so old fashioned. Not at all. Beautiful things should be shown off. Displayed. Taken out."

"Really? I don't like the sound of that either. I'm a cop."

"I know that," Castle said impatiently. "And you're an ice elemental, and now, it seems, you're a dragon. Besides which, who said it was you being added to my hoard? If you're a dragon, you need to acquire a hoard of gorgeous possessions of your own. Starting with me, of course."

Beckett was so surprised she turned back into her elemental self. "You _what_ now?"

Castle's tail tugged her back into him, so that she was tucked within his forepaws and against his underside. "I'd be happy to let you own me," he smirked. She smacked his nose. "Ow!" His tail picked her up and set her at a slight distance, beyond arm's reach, but still firmly in his grip.

"You're lucky I didn't ice you, you _iguana_."

Castle's eyes lit up. "Mm, I guess I am. Lucky, that is. Wanna explain why you didn't? Oh – and I'm _not_ a lizard. I keep telling you I'm warm-blooded. Even hot." His sapphire facets gleamed mischievously. "Perfect symmetry. Fire and ice. Gold and silver." His voice dropped into a bedroom baritone which Beckett was perfectly certain should _not_ be allowed to slide down the synapses of innocent ice elementals. "Hard and soft. Male…and female."

She unconsciously took a step back towards him, and another, and as she took the third, stepped into the big body of Castle-as-human, as he changed back, brought her in, tipped her head up, and kissed her full on the lips.

It _burned_.

She gasped, shocked by the contact, and he simply…invaded: tongue exploring, one hand in her frost-tipped hair, one scalding through the thin white dress to her skin, pressing her closer to his hot hard arousal. Tucked in like this, she was surrounded, surprised by how much bigger and broader than she he was, enfolded and, well, _caught._ (_Happy to be caught._) He kissed her as if he'd always known how, as if he'd always had the right, as if this was the hundred-and-first time, not the first time: expert, experienced, and yet still the same enthusiastic Castle: silly and serious, funny and forceful; taking joy in everything.

Right now, he was taking considerable joy in taking her mouth, and she couldn't think of a single reason to stop him. He touched all the right spots, and she answered him willingly: softening and curving into him. He grip firmed, his kiss became harder, more possessive, asserting and conquering – and she let him, drowning in sensation without a struggle.

When he lifted off she actually _mewed_ in protest.

"That's what being kissed by the dragon is like," he said suavely, but his eyes were dilated and wild, and he hadn't stopped pressing her tightly into him for an instant.

Beckett took a breath. "That's what being kissed by the Ice Queen is like, you mean," she said as she desperately tried to recover some game,

"I like kissing the Ice Queen," Castle pointed out, and promptly did it again: forceful and demanding, holding her to his desire, hand beginning to roam up and down her spine, stroking from scapulae to slim ass and pausing there. "I'd like to do a lot more with her."

"Would you?" she murmured, peeping up through long lashes. "I guess I could stroke your scales for a while. You liked that." She smirked evilly. "I might even let you play around with your tail."

Castle put on an expression of some disappointment, and pouted. "Is that the best I get?"

"Take it or leave it," Beckett purred.

He changed to the dragon: huge, golden, and just a little predatory. "C'mere," he growled, and didn't pause before his tail wrapped round her and lifted her into the cage of his meshed front talons. "Now, what was that about stroking my scales?"

Beckett stretched out a hand and patted his, well… it was closest to being a cheek, she supposed. The dragon's growl softened slightly, and he pushed his head into her hand, as a pet might. Automatically, she petted, much like she would pet a cat. There wasn't much other resemblance, to be sure. Cats did not come in aeroplane sized models, and their purrs were not delivered in a deep, growly baritone. They didn't have a deep, magma-like, red heat in their throats, either.

And they certainly didn't do _that_.

She squealed, which was embarrassing, and covered it up with a squawk, which wasn't much better.

"What are you doing?"

"You said I could play around with my tail. I'm playing." He smirked. "I like playing with you, you know." His tail slid between her legs again, talons opened to let it play, curling around her calf: the thicker portion sliding up between her thighs, lightly pressing, sliding. _Ohfuckthatfeelsgood._ She wriggled against it, and the dragon smiled lazily.

"Never done it with a dragon, have you? Not that you could've, because I'm the only one and I'd definitely remember if we'd done it." His lazy smile widened, acquiring an edge of predatory possession. "Tails have so many uses…" he insinuated, and trailed it back from its curl around her calf, refurling it a little higher, almost at her knee, pressing a little more, sliding a fraction faster. The wriggle was more pronounced, and her petting had almost stopped, replaced by arms around his neck. "You like that," he murmured. "I could do it some more, Ice Queen. Wanna come fly with me?"

(_I think that sentence could have stopped at two words. Don't you?_ Shut up. I'm busy. _Busy? That what the cool kids call it these days?_ Yes. Now shut up.)

"Fly?"

Suddenly, there was human Castle again. "Metaphorically or literally. Which would you like?" But he kissed her before she could answer, and any thoughts about flying – simply flew away. Her leg folded up and around his hip, pulling him close; her hands knotted in his hair; she could feel every unnecessary button on his shirt; heat where she pressed against the hard mass of his arousal; dampness gathering at her centre. His hand slid along the exposed length of her thigh, pausing at the thin lace edge of her panties: she squirmed against him, open and needy.

"I'll fly you to the stars," he whispered in her ear: his fingers moved over the light fabric and every touch scorched. One big hand slipped to her ass, and he hoisted her up and took her inside. "Outside's pretty, but we'll have a much better time in your bed. She clung on to his shoulders, and let him take her in, to her room, to the bed, where he laid her down and spread her out.

"Now, let's see how this flimsy piece of prettiness comes off," he mused, and sent searching fingers up and down her spine and sides, leaving sparks behind them, skittering down her synapses and slithering over her skin. "Ah, there." A zipper that she'd never worried about finding (the dress disappeared when she changed – oh. Ooohhhh.) started to zing.

"You don't need to worry about that," she purred, and became human.

Castle made an aggrieved noise. "Now you're wearing _more_ clothes," he complained. "That wasn't the idea."

"Oh, whatever." She switched back, and Castle rapidly found the zipper and then equally rapidly slid it open and peeled the dress slowly down from her shoulders, admiring openly as it dropped away. Broad, surprisingly delicate fingers followed it down, and then, when he had lifted her slightly to cast it away, danced back upwards.

"You're still wearing too many clothes," Beckett suggested, and instantly began to remedy the problem, flicking open the annoying buttons and exposing an interestingly muscular chest. "These from flying?" she asked, running the tip of a frosted fingernail over the delineations.

"Yep. And the gym."

"You go to the gym? When? I thought you didn't wake up till mid-morning. You never come by the precinct early."

"That's because I'm at the gym." He flexed. "And look how gorgeous I am."

"Still need to work on that modesty," Beckett snarked.

"I am. I've caught you checking me out."

"I do not!"

Castle merely smiled knowingly. (_You do so._) "Anyway, dragons don't do modesty. We do pleasure."

"Yeah. I'd noticed you do exactly what you please."

"Oh, I intend to," he growled. "You please me, and like you just said, I do what pleases me."

Before she could answer that piece of arrogance, he swooped down and took her mouth again, and though he didn't stop her unbuckling his belt, or freeing the button of his pants, or sliding down the zipper, or indeed sliding his pants and boxers from strong thighs – her usual dexterity and focus was lacking: all of it being on the things he was doing with lips and tongue and little nips of teeth on her lip. It shouldn't have been as erotic as it was. It wasn't like she'd never been kissed before. But just like it had been earlier, it was electric: hotter than hell and leaving her brain-fried and mewling, frantically now pulling him closer, over her; hands in his hair so that he couldn't lift away.

At least, that was the idea. He did lift away, which was deeply displeasing – ohmigod _do that again_ – maybe not displeasing – _ohmigod_ – definitely not displeasing – _ohfuckfuckfuck where did he learn that?_ – and then he had found her breast and she could barely think, only feel. The last thought in her head before she gave up thinking entirely was that doing it with a dragon was a whole lot better than doing it with anyone else had ever been.

Castle, who retained almost as much thought as Beckett, lost himself in attention to her white skin, pale lips, and then her pale, almost silvery, nipples: pointed and perfect and _all his_. Dragons hung on to their winnings…and he'd won Beckett. Now, he was going to make absolutely certain sure that she stayed with him, though, (as far as he knew) as the only two supernaturals, never mind dragons, in New York, and possibly the world, he thought he might be okay there. He bent to her breasts again: not too big, nicely rounded, firm…just perfect to circle and palm and suckle and make her wriggle and writhe and whimper for him, all for him.

If he'd had to confess, he'd have admitted that chasing Beckett through the sky, bringing her to earth, and then catching her close; and now the small movements and helplessly sexy noises – appealed to the predator that he was. The thrill of the chase – was all too real, and all too addictive: more potent than heroin. And here, beside him, beneath him, was his prize, his prey.

Prey was there to be eaten…

He fell to. First, those perfectly fitting breasts; and then, when she was already flying high, he slithered down, kissing and lipping all the way, reaching the narrow lace, the simple, silky panties. He peeled them off and flung them away, intending to take her with mouth and tongue – but his fingers slid through sodden folds, strangely chill – and he couldn't wait to have her any longer; his Ice Queen. He rose above her and guided himself to her entrance: her hands were on his broad back and bringing him down and into her as he thrust home and – stopped. She was _cold_, right the way through.

"You're _cold_," he squawked.

"Ice elemental, remember?"

"Are you warm when you're Beckett? Because gorgeous as you are, I really do not want frostbite _there_."

"I guess that would be a problem," she smirked. "Okay, then." She was abruptly her human, familiar, self. Castle's desire returned full force as she heated up.

"Mine," he breathed. "Be mine, Beckett." She answered by pulling him down and taking his mouth, hard and possessive, and then he moved, and she arched, and it exploded between them until they lay lax and sated, entwined, and both human.

"You're snuggly," she noted.

"Is that a problem? I like curling around beautiful things."

"Try not to change into a dragon in here. There isn't room."

"Why would I want to be a dragon when I can snuggle around you? It wouldn't be half as good if you were human and I was a dragon. You'd barely fit in one paw, and how would I pet you?"

"There's that tail of yours," Beckett said lazily. "Or are you telling me it's got a mind of its own?"

"No."

"Shame," she teased. "It might have fewer crazy theories."

"Mean."

"But fair."

Castle pouted. "If you're going to be mean to me, the least you could do is let me chase you - dance the skies on laughter-silvered wings, as the poet said."

"War poetry," Beckett noted.

Castle smiled lazily back at her. "Why not. Love is war…"

"If you think that, you've been doing it wrong."

"I thought I'd done it right," he grinned, a flash of white teeth, "but I can show you how I do it right again, if you like."

"Knock yourself out," she yawned.

"If you're too tired, I'll just stay right here and cuddle. Works for me." He wrapped her in, and nuzzled into her hair. "There. All cosy."

He was cosy. Not to say…heated. He'd wanted to add Beckett to his life for some time, and here she was. Wiggling. Which was not conducive to cosiness but was exceedingly conducive to concupiscence. He swelled against her again, turned her to him, took her luscious mouth again, and the heat blazed between them: the flame on his side, the burn of space-deep cold on hers: and yet both human, both alive, both _together_: flying high and then the meteor sparkling, flaming out and falling to earth and each other.

Some time later, still intertwined, Beckett emitted a sleepy murmur and nestled closer in to Castle's broad body tucked around her. Eventually, the murmur resolved itself into "Can we go flying again?"

"Sure. C'n I chase you? I liked chasing you – and catching you." His eyes gleamed, suddenly awake. "If I caught you, would you stay a dragon?"

Her eyes lit in turn, little gold flecks which he thought might turn to diamond if she were in her elemental state. "Why?" she enticed.

"To see what would happen," Castle deflected.

"Never done it with a dragon?" she teased.

"Never met another dragon."

"How'd you know? You didn't spot that I wasn't exactly human. There could be others."

"Espo's definitely a goblin, then," Castle said with a little edge.

Beckett quirked an eyebrow. "Problems?"

"No more than usual."

She dropped it. Espo's big brother act annoyed her too, but naked in bed with Castle wasn't the place to discuss it. In fact, nowhere was the place to discuss it with Castle. She'd deal with Espo when required. "Ryan's a leprechaun, of course," she said blandly.

"Really?"

"Nope."

"How would you know?"

"I wouldn't. But he'd never be able to keep it a secret." Castle snickered. "Anyway, I'm going to have a shower and then…" she trailed off.

"Then?" Castle asked.

"Wait and see." Beckett rolled out of bed and hit the shower, which – as ever – was deliciously cold.

"What the _hell_?" Castle screeched. Ooops. "It's _freezing_!"

"I like it like that."

"Where's the hot tap?"

"There isn't one." Beckett finished her shower to the accompaniment of Castle's whining, dried herself as he watched avidly, and then stared in absolute horror as a human sized dragon heated the water by turning the pipes red hot. "What are you doing?"

"I like my showers _hot_," he grated. "Don't worry, the pipes won't melt." He stretched and flexed and, well, _showed off_ as he washed, and then smiled beautifully and stopped roasting the pipes. "All done." The smile became predatory. "I've waited. What should I see?"

Beckett, suddenly elemental, simply walked outside, paused for half a beat, then took a running leap from the edge of the cliff, shifting to the silver dragon as she went, and laughed at him. "Come catch me if you can," she purred, and flew.

Castle, of course, was after her in half a second, bigger, faster, and – probably because he'd had _years_ of practice – tactically far more adept, which wasn't fair. He flew high, and then came at her out of the sun, from above, forcing her down, and down, and back on to her lake.

She changed form, matched by Castle.

"So," he said, catching her in. "What's my prize for catching you – _you dirty rat!_" He took off after her, shaking the snowball out of his shirt, stripping it off as he went. "That was _mean_!" He caught her at the door, and swung her round. "I'll melt your ice if you do that again."

"Will you?" she said seductively, and batted her frosty lashes at him. "Only if I do it again?" He blinked. She smirked.

"Come melt my ice, Castle."

_**Fin.**_

* * *

_Thank you to all readers and reviewers who came along for this flight into insanity. Much appreciated._

_Don't forget about Death in Focus and Death in Camera._


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